


Don't Ask Me (What You Know Is True)

by Zygomatique



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Klaus Hargreeves, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Klaus - Freeform, Klaus Hargreeves Needs A Hug, Klaus Hargreeves Needs Help, M/M, Old!Five, Oral Sex, POV Number Five | The Boy (Umbrella Academy), Prostitution, Pseudo-Incest, Time Travel, Verbal Humiliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 12:23:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19318108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zygomatique/pseuds/Zygomatique
Summary: Five hadn’t come the bowels of the city in the year 2011 to hire a hooker, to say nothing of finding Klaus. But the mission could wait for a night, he realized, watching Klaus teeter on his spindly heels. It was a perk of time travel that anything could wait.





	Don't Ask Me (What You Know Is True)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for this kinkmeme prompt: https://umbrellakink.dreamwidth.org/284.html?thread=73244
> 
> "During his time as 50-something time travelling assassin Five travels to his home city and runs into prostitute Klaus and ends up hiring him."

If not for the afterimage of the apocalypse, Five might not have recognized his brother. But even decades removed from it, his siblings’ corpses amid the ruins of the Academy were branded into his brain. It was Klaus, alright—leaning against the far end of the bar at a saucy angle, chatting up an older man sucking down a Manhattan. They’d all be twenty-two now, Five calculated; Klaus looked both older and younger than that, somehow, not like it mattered. He was as willowy and effete as ever, too thin and deathly pale, with wild thickets of dark curls framing the angles of his face. He didn’t look healthy, but he did look beautiful—big, bottle-green eyes rimmed in shadow, cheekbones dusted with an iridescent sheen. Number Four certainly had cultivated his own personal style. A sheer black blousy thing billowed like smoke around his peaky shoulders and hung open in front to reveal _not quite_ a shirt. Tight magenta mesh, six inches too short and effectively see-through, the top was about as useless at covering his lean torso as the Séance himself had been on Academy missions. 

Klaus tossed his head in a coquettish laugh, and his companion finished up his cocktail. Only when they stood up, arm in arm, did Five saw the bottom half of his brother’s outfit: a black leather miniskirt that clung to his ass for dear life. Below that, ripped fishnets showed off miles of leg, terminating in four-inch heels.

Klaus was a hooker now, Five realized. Because _of course_ he was. Even at thirteen, he’d been sneaking out to get drunk or high with older boys. Five was never one to moralize. Still, it made him slightly sad. And…slightly something else. Between the high heels, the stockings, and the painted-on skirt, his beanpole of a brother had an ass to kill for.

Or _not_ kill for. Five hadn’t come the bowels of the city in the year 2011 to hire a hooker, to say nothing of finding Klaus. He’d come to do what he went anywhere and any _when_ to do—to commit murder and get out of Dodge. But the mission could wait for a night, he realized, watching Klaus teeter on his spindly heels. It was a perk of time travel that _anything_ could wait.

Just as Klaus and his partner slipped into the crowd, he cast a saucy wink over his shoulder, right at Five. So he’d seen him there, watching. Maybe he’d be back. Who knows, maybe he and Mr. Manhattan were just stepping out for a quick smoke. 

_I should probably tell him about the apocalypse_ , Five thought. 

He waited at the bar, nursing a martini. Ten minutes later, Klaus returned with a pinch of pep in his stilettoed step, dabbing at his nose and mouth with the back of his flowing sleeve. The other man was nowhere to be seen. Klaus caught Five’s eye and slithered into the empty stool to his left. His smile was sweet, yet wicked, a white slice of moon. 

“Hiya handsome,” Klaus cooed, and any lingering doubts Five had about Four’s purpose at the bar dissipated. Five had many talents, but he wasn’t handsome, and hadn’t been in quite a long time. Klaus, on the other hand…well. Handsome wasn’t even the word for it. Delectable. Damaged. Clearly unwell. Ethereal, like some wayward graveyard sprite. Even drunk and stoned and sloppy as hell—clearly his default—he managed to be charming in all his flaming wreckage. Five couldn’t deny what he wanted from Klaus. What everyone wanted, seemingly, against all reason. _Forgive me, Delores_ , he said to himself.

To Klaus, he said, “Nice dress.” Which was stupid—it was a skirt, after all, not a dress. But Five was too stubborn to correct himself.

“ _Danke_ ,” Klaus said. He plucked a shot of liquor from the bar like a grape from the vine and threw it back with wanton elegance. “Though nine out of ten dentists agree it looks even better on the floor.”

“Does it now?” Five allowed himself a small smile. Maybe he’d actually missed him a little. 

“Oh, indeed,” Klaus lilted, eyes greedy and needy and bright beneath the hoods of their half-lids. “Of course, you don’t have to take my word for it.” For all his fey flamboyance and shameless self destruction, Klaus was certainly no damsel in distress. He was more predator than prey, and Five liked that. The space between them had shrunk to a hand’s breadth. Five’s gaze raked over Klaus’ creamy, crossed thighs, crying out through his stockings to be touched. “Unless you’re a cop,” Klaus threw in quickly. “I am _not_ making that mistake again.”

“I assure you, I have nothing but disdain for the law.” 

“Well that certainly puts us on the same page,” Klaus said, devilish mouth upturned slyly at the corners. Five didn’t feel guilty for what he would soon be doing to that mouth, those legs, that perky little ass. It wasn’t Five’s fault the Séance had sunk into a life of glitz and squalor, chosen weed and booze and pills and powder over all manner of dignity. It was unsettling to see his brother so emaciated, the track marks on his arms as visible as his nipples through his skimpy shirt, but frankly, Klaus seemed happier than he ever had at the Academy. Even as kids, it was clear that _happiness_ was never in the cards for most of them, least of all poor, useless Number Four. Maybe this was as close as as Klaus got. 

As they left the bar together, Klaus showed no sign of recognizing his long lost brother. Then again, Klaus had always been denser than dog shit. He was the third-dumbest Hargreeves sibling, tied with Diego, lagging behind Luther. And he was a hot mess and a half. He clung to Five’s arm, a touch unsteady as they meandered down the road to Five’s motel. Again, it struck Five that he really should warn him about the end of the world.

“Did you grow up around here?” he asked, wafting the smoke from Klaus’ cigarette out of his face.

“Grow up?” Klaus scoffed. “ _Moi?_ ” 

Five shrugged. “Got any family?”

A high giggle bubbled up from Klaus’ milky throat. “Wow, talk about a boner killer.” He took a long drag. “Family. Technically, somewhere. Haven’t seen ‘em in years.” He sniffed. “Say, what’s with the twenty questions? You sure you’re not a cop?”

“Sure as your ass is round, doll.” 

“Please, call me Klaus.”

“Oh? Why should I?” Five ran his hand up between Klaus’ slim thighs, feeling lacy heat under his skirt. “You’re nothing but a filthy whore. Who says you deserve a name?”

Behind the emerald of Klaus’ eyes, something soft and wounded flickered. He looked away, and Five knew he’d crossed a line. But when Klaus looked at him again, he was smiling, totally composed. “Whatever you want, Daddy,” he purred, in a voice that made Five both horny and uncomfortable. Frankly, it was a voice that made Five glad he’d left home at thirteen.

They reached the motel and ascended to Five’s room. The Commission’s budget cuts left much to be desired, accomodations-wise, but Klaus didn’t exactly have Ritz Carleton standards. That much was clear. Five laid down a minty hundred on the dresser, and Klaus eyed the money hungrily, green eyes like mirrors. 

“Ah ah, after,” Five chided, pinching on one Klaus’ nipples through his tiny mesh top. Klaus squealed, and Five filed that away for later. “Show me what that saucy tongue of yours is good for.”

Klaus melted to a kneel right then and there, casting his thin black blouse to the floor like a shadow. He he pulled  Five’s stiff dick from his fly, long pale fingers curled around his shaft. “Well, well,” Klaus purred. “Looks like Daddy’s _rarin’_ to go.”

“Don’t call me that,” Five bristled.  Klaus just smirked and lowered his head. His tongue slunk up Five’s shaft and circled the head of his cock, and Five let his eyes fall closed in pleasure. Then the wet heat of Klaus’ mouth engulfed Five’s whole length at once, and Five suppressed a startled moan. He opened his eyes, watching his whore brother’s lips slide up and down his dick.

“Mmm...” Five murmured, bucking deep into his hot tight throat. Fucking _Klaus_. He was so pretty, so pathetic, and he sucked cock like a goddamn dream. Poor useless Number Four had finally found something he excelled at. Five twisted his fingers in the dark brown curls and pushed Klaus’ head down lower, flush to the hilt. Klaus took it all in with a little moan, somewhere between pleasure and protest. It was exquisite, watching the young man’s cheeks hollow as he slurped up shiny ribbons of saliva, pink lips full and glistening. He glanced upward intermittently with candy apple eyes, as if angling for approval.

“Klaus,” Five murmured despite himself. 

“Oh wow, you remembered,” Klaus said, between languid licks.

“You’re memorable.”

Klaus looked pleased with himself. He sucked and sucked, tirelessly, _perfectly_ , until Five couldn’t take a minute more. He had to draw this out longer. He wanted more of Klaus, _all_ of Klaus, because once they left this bedroom, that would be that.

“Get on all fours,” he ordered. “On the bed. Up.”

Klaus obeyed, looking only momentarily concerned.  Five positioned himself behind him, hiking up his tight leather skirt to reveal a lacy black thong with hot pink trim. It barely contained the young junkie’s junk, and Five’s well-primed dick pulsed with thirst. “God, you’re tiny,” he breathed, kneading the round, firm globes of his cheeks. “Barely enough ass on your strung out bones to _fuck_.” 

“It’s bigger on the inside,” Klaus grinned over his shoulder. “Trust me.”

Klaus, as a rule, did not inspire trust. But as Five pulled the lacy thong aside and admired the pink pucker of his hole, he figured the prostitute had experience to spare. He also had lube—god knows where he’d stored it in his nothing of an outfit—and Five smothered his fingers with it to ease Klaus open. 

“Ohhh,” Klaus moaned. “Oh yeah.” Inside he was baby-smooth and shockingly clean, hot and tight and pliable. His body was definitely used to this, Five thought as he slid a third finger in. Built for it, even. 

“You’re a real slut,” Five said, relishing the way he opened right up for him. “A natural.” He probed Klaus’ depths with different angles, taking his time, until he struck a spot that made him cry out deliciously. 

“Oh that’s it, that’s it,” Klaus bleathed, writhing. “Right there. Fuck.”

“You’re so hungry for it.”

“ _Starved_.”

“I seriously doubt that,” Five said. “A floozy like you? I bet you’ve taken your daily quota of cock tonight already. What is this, number four? Five?” He couldn’t resist his private joke.

“Please,” Klaus whined, oblivious. “Please, I want _your_ cock.” He rolled his hips back to take more of Five’s fingers. “Please, oh, please sir, dick me down—”

“Shut up.” Five smacked Klaus’ pale flank just hard enough to sting. Klaus yelped, plainly delighted. “I’ll fuck you on _my_ time.” Five wanted to savor this: impaled on his fingers, this ripe, young, undead Adonis, skirt rucked up over his hips, that stupid pink crop top still stretched across his ribs. God, he was exquisite. At last,  reluctantly, Five rolled on a condom. With the likes of Klaus, one couldn’t be too careful. 

Pleasure swamped him as he slid inside. “Oh,” he said. “Oh, Klaus.” At first Five fucked him slowly, savoring his snug young heat. It felt surreal. His own brother, strung out on the streets at twenty-two, face down, ass up, alive.  At long last, Number Four had found his purpose in this world. More power to him. 

As Five thrust long and deep into his luscious ass, Klaus moaned and bucked beneath him, crying out for more .  “Christ,” he panted. “Oh yeah, yeah, give it to me. Harder.”

“You’re a needy little bitch.”

“I am, _oh_ I am,” Klaus agreed.  Even as Five increased his rhythm, Klaus cried, “Yes, yes, harder. Hurt me.”

Klaus felt so good around his dick that Five’s brain barely registered the words. “Hurt you?” 

“Yeah, go to town,” he rasped between little moans. “I know a sick fuck like me when I see one. You’re into that sadistic shit. Let it all—”

Five struck him again, violently this time. Klaus’ pained yelp quickly melted into a grin. “‘T’smore like it,” he said.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Five said. He didn’t particularly _want_ to hurt Klaus (though if he kept running his mouth, or called him Daddy one more time…)  but he did enjoy a good rough mindless rut. He plowed into Klaus mercilessly, eliciting a little whine, then harder, gripping his hips with bruising force. He fucked him like an empty doll, a lifeless vessel. Which, at the end of the day, is exactly what Klaus was. A receiver, a receptacle for the sins of the living, in lieu of the dead.

“Turn over,” Five ordered, just as he closed in on his breaking point. Klaus rolled onto his back, slid his now-sticky panties down around one high-heeled ankle, and spread his stockinged legs wide and high. Then Five resumed his thrusts, seizing his pale, lean thighs and driving hard hard hard into his heat. Klaus’ pretty face was pink with pleasure, smudged eyes drooping closed behind lush lashes. He reached for his own cock, flushed and weeping, and began to stroke furiously until Five smacked his hand away.

“No.” He pinned Klaus’ thin wrist, with its faded umbrella tattoo, firmly to the bed. He brought his other hand down on Klaus’ neck. “No touching yourself, greedy slut. That’s cheating.” 

Gasping, Klaus inhaled a narrow stream of air, breath shallow and smoke-tinged as Five leaned over him. “Please,” his soft lips mouthed again, the sound half-choked and constricted. Instead, Five mouthed one of his sensitive nipples through his netted shirt, sucking and licking and nipping as he fucked him slow. He suckled one tiny teat and then the other until poor Klaus was a mewling, quivering mess. 

At last, Five released the pressure on his airway, and Klaus sucked in breath with a cry, his little untouched prick spurting cum all over the flat of his abs and his hiked-up leather skirt. It was magnificent to behold. Five sped up his thrusts again, hurtling towards a climax of his own. And then, with Klaus’ hot, sloppy hole clenching around his swollen cock, he lost it. 

Gradually, Five’s senses reconstituted themselves. He blinked down upon his brother’s angelic, wasted face. Sliding stickily out of Klaus, he peeled off the condom and tossed it aside. Number Four lay limp on the bed with his eyes half closed, looking well past thoroughly fucked. A few choice bruises were beginning to form, and Five felt a distinct lack of regret. 

Five grabbed a damp towel from the bathroom for himself, and one for Klaus. He could shower later, once the boy had left. The air around them had an urgent, sad fragility, like a spring day or balanced equation, like if Five thought about it too much it would hurt. 

They shared a cigarette in bed while Five stroked Klaus’ hair. A little of Klaus went a long way, and he’d had more than a little, to be sure. But bouncing around the centuries like a murderous pinball was a lonely affair, and Five had to admit he was grateful for the company. 

“What if I told you the world ends in eight years?” Five said.

Klaus' laugh was musical, so earnest it hurt. “Jesus. Eight _years?_ I’ll be pushing daisies and raking brimstone by then. Maybe both of us.”

“Don’t count on it,” Five said grimly. 

“You too, Pops. Watch that ticker.” He poked Five’s chest playfully. “Keep off the carbs, or whatever.”

“It’s not about _me_ ,” said Five. “It’s about everyone else.”

“Aw! That’s the sweetest thing,” Klaus drawled mockingly as he sat up. “What, are you in some kind of Armageddon death cult?” He raised his tattooed palms in feigned alarm. “The end is nigh, repent, repent!” He waved his hands dismissively, swatting invisible flies. “Who. The fuck. Cares? I figure I’ve only got so many more ambulance rides left before my ticket’s punched.”

Five glanced at the crook of Klaus’ left arm, where bruised veins bloomed beneath silken skin. “How many times have you OD’d?” Five asked.

“Fuck if I know. I never could count much past six or seven, unless it’s measured in dollars. Or grams.” He grinned, like his dumpster fire of a life was remotely amusing. All Five could think of was Klaus’ face in the future, 2019, dead eyes just slightly open, surveying the ruins. Unlike his siblings, Klaus didn’t wind up buried under the rubble. He looked like he’d just surrendered, just laid down to die.

“You’re too beautiful to die,” Five said, shocking himself again with own insipid words. Maybe idiocy was contagious. Condoms didn’t protect against stupidity.

Klaus chuckled darkly. “Too pretty to die. Maybe that’s my problem.” He stretched, catlike, smoothing out his soiled skirt. He was was getting ready to leave. Five didn’t blame him. The apocalypse didn’t make for great pillow talk. He’d known it was hopeless to attempt a real conversation. At least the sex had been satisfying, for both of them really.

“Klaus,” Five said, “Just…don’t lose touch with your family. I did, long ago, and, well. _Occasionally_ I regret it.” 

A disbelieving snort. “Like I’m about to spend one more minute of my short life in _that_ shit carnival.” Klaus picked his black Stevie Nicks shirt off the floor, sniffed it, and pulled it on over his scarred arms. “No, sir. _Ixnay_ on the _amilyfay_. Give me a fat bag of china white and a bubble bath, and I’ll happily hunker down for the end times.”

“Suit yourself,” Five shrugged. 

“I always do,” said Klaus. He kissed Ben Franklin as he collected his cash. Then he looked at Five with a fondness approaching genuine. “You’re a pretty good time for an old guy, you know? Come find me again sometime.” 

“Some time,” Five echoed. _Some time._

Klaus skated out the motel door with a GOOD BYE flourish. Five waited for the click of high heels to fade out to silence before he poured himself a drink.

 

 

 

 


End file.
